Watchmen: Centennial
by J. Donavan Edmond
Summary: My sequel to the story that needs no sequel. This idea came from a RPG game I ran nearly a decade ago and I decided to put it to paper or screen, as it were. Enjoy!


"In the end?"

Nothing ends Adrian.

Nothing ever ends.

- Dr. Manhattan

November 2, 2085, 11:22 PM.

The Museum was deathly quiet.

Friday was Carlos' favorite night of the week. The Museum closed early on Fridays for weekend maintenance and, by the time the night security shift started, any stragglers in the Superhero Wing had long been found and dealt with. Every other night of the week, the guard had to go about his first rounds searching for those jerks who wanted, sometimes said they needed, to stay in the Museum with the living history of the heroes who had meant so much to the world. However, the Metropolitan Museum of Modern History was very strict about stragglers and, much of the time, the lost souls who felt the need to comforted by the place often were dragged out to a police retrieval drone with a few extra bruises. To make matters worse for them, they were banned from the Museum for life. The identification code for their personal positioning chip was logged into the scanners at the Museum entrance and the trespassers could never again walk through the front door.

On Fridays, however, there was no need for the extensive search. By the time Carlos arrived, the Museum had been closed for six hours and Pernelli, Krenshaw, or Albertson had found any of the little fuckers and sent them on their way. That was a good thing, especially today. Carlos had forgotten his wife's birthday again. You'd think, being two days after Halloween, he could remember it with no problem, but Carlos wasn't the sort of person who doted on such things. He had not been raised in a family that concerned itself overly much with the various holidays and anniversaries most of the citizens of New Bastion or the rest of the world deemed so important. Carlos' father and mother had made their way up from the Undercity and never fully took to the traditions of their wealthier station. They never spoke of the world in which they had grown up, but they were always clear that even death would be preferable to going back. Whenever he thought of the Undercity, Carlos would instinctively look down, as if his vision could penetrate the many layers of metal, plastic, and concrete that separated New Bastion from what had been New York City before the attack nearly a century ago.

Carlos shivered as he thought of the horrors that the poor bastards who were still trapped below might be perpetrating on each other. Murder, rape, cannibalism; any sort of monstrous act was not above the people of the Undercity. They wanted no civilization and there was little the New Bastion government could do to help them unless they were willing to help themselves. The United Earth Congress had declared the area a No Man's Land and made any travel to and from the Undercity illegal shortly after the construction of New Bastion had begun on the corpse of Old New York. Only a brave and willful few, such as Carlos McCready's parents, could make their escape and once out, the government would, thankfully, not force them to return.

Lost in thought, the security guard was rousted from his musings by the sound of a single footstep. He swore under his breath and began walking in the direction he had heard the noise. Carlos thought that it was probably one of the other guards trying to put a scare in him again. A few months ago, Baker had made his way into the Rorschach display in a mask of the infamous vigilante. When Carlos approached, Baker had leapt out and scared the poor man out of his wits. As Carlos rounded the corner with the familiar ink blot sign, he pulled his stun rod. This time, Baker wouldn't be so happy after trying to terrify the years off a man's life.

As he was about to reach the display, Carlos decided to check in with the desk and let Rosen know his position. "Dan," He said into his comm, "This is Carlos, I'm checking out a noise in the Rorschach display. S'probably Andy again. I'll give 'im a little zap this time." He snickered to himself. Carlos' transmission could only be heard at the desk, but he was guessing that Baker could hear his voice.

"Um, Carlos?" He heard Anderson Baker's voice say over his communicator, "I'm here. At the desk."

Carlos stopped for a moment and then sighed. "Okay," He said, "Well I guess the day shift missed one. Lazy shits. I'll deal of this one."

He clicked off his communicator and tightened his grip on the stun rod in his left hand. Whoever this was sneaking around, he was going to make sure they felt sting of the stun rod long after the bio-electrical disruption on their nervous system had worn off. He stepped around the partition that separated the Rorschach display from the rest of the 20th Century Annex and pulled his palm light. The area was dark; the designers had done so deliberately in order to set the mood they believed one should have when viewing the relics left behind by one of history's darkest and most controversial vigilantes. Unfortunately, when the main lights were off for the night, this allowed for those who wished to hide within the Museum to have a place where they thought they could hide.

They couldn't. They were always found. The dregs of society, as far as Carlos was concerned, although some of the trespassers could be considered quite wealthy.

Carlos shined his light into the corners of the room and gave a warning. "Intruder in the annex," He said in an even tone, "Please show yourself and you will not be harmed!"

Nothing.

Carlos shined the light across the area, noting each object in turn. Everything seemed there and untouched. The particle fields that surrounded each piece in the Museum ensured that they couldn't be moved, but they could still be tousled by the force of an overeager fan. Nothing seemed knocked over or moved. This was a good thing. Deactivating the fields was fairly easy, but ensuring that the exhibits were perfectly set up was often a pain in the ass. Carlos panned the light to the right side of the display entrance and suddenly became aware of a presence behind his left shoulder.

Before his mind was even fully aware of the iron-like grip on his left arm, it had twisted back of its own volition. Carlos howled in agony, but held his grip on th stun rod until an impact on his forearm forced him to drop it. The palm light flew from his other hand, coming to rest with the light shining ominously towards the ceiling. The security guard felt the back of his hand against middle of his back and the agonizing strain of his left humerus bone as it was forced against the fulcrum of his body. Carlos could only see blazing white through the pain as he became certain his arm would snap. Soon, the pain abruptly receded as his assailant let up pressure and Carlos' eyesight cleared.

"Should be quiet, yes." He said in a gritty voice that was almost a whisper.

"Please, don't hurt me!" The guard blurted through his terror, "I didn't do anything! I won't tell anyone!"

"Hrm," The attacker muttered, "No good. Want you to tell everyone."

Carlos could see, out of the corner of his eye, the man was leaning forward to let the guard see his face. Twisting his head to get a better look, Carlos MacCready immediately regretted doing so.

It was nearly featureless white with moving blobs of black twisting around. At first, Carlos thought he saw an image of a man eating a woman's face, but the image changed before he could focus on it. And then changed again. The man shifted his weight and pushed Carlos forward, the security guard landing unceremoniously on his face. He rolled to his side and immediately nursed his aching limb. Carlos began to look around his room for any sign of the attacker, but his eyes stopped at one of the displays.

It was an etching of a man with the same mask Carlos had just seen. He wore a fedora and a closed trench coat with his hands in his pockets. The stance he had been placed in wasn't necessarily menacing, but it gave him a resolute and relentless air about him. Beneath the etching was an inscription that read:

Walter Joseph Kovacs

Rorschach

July 14, 1940 – November 2, 1985

Unrelenting and Uncompromising.

Carlos rolled his head down and saw the man who had attacked him. His face was still a moving and flowing series of ink blots. He wore a suit of dark gray body armor over black tights. He was placing the fedora of Rorschach on his head and had the overcoat in his hand.

"Hrm." He said abrubltly then looked at the guard, "Guess coat won't work. New accessories. You keep it." He tossed the coat over to Carlos and added, "This, too." The guards security field key slid to rest just in front of his face. He stared at the man in the mask with awe.

"You..." Carlos stuttered, "You can't be... you're long dead..."

"Ghost, maybe." The man said as he exited the annex, "Or maybe just took century off." He stopped and looked at Carlos, "Almost midnight. Time to punch back in." He picked up Carlos' stun rod and eyed it. The intruder broke the activator in the on position and dropped it to the floor. "Some things. Long time coming. Let them know." He kicked the rod at Carlos which struck him in the face, sending a charge through his body which was followed by nothing but blackness.

The light was strange as Carlos was dragged from his dreams of faceless men who showed people their soul. The first thing he noted was the dull ache that moved in waves throughout his entire body. He then realized he was looking into Andy Baker's smirking face from a low vantage point.

"Fell on your stun rod, eh?" Baker taunted, "That's a new one."

There was activity all around him. Rosen and Baker must have called in the emergency teams when Carlos hadn't checked back. Suddenly, what had happened all came rushing back to him and he began to stand as quickly as he could. The explosion of pain in his head stopped his action and he fell back to his rump.

"Son of a bitch!" He growled.

"Easy, there." Andy said, "You must've had a hell of a start to knock yourself out like that."

"It wasn't me!" Carlos said in his defense, "It was..." He suddenly realized that the annex was fine. There was nothing missing, not even the hat he had seen the man take.

"Who, MacCready?" Professor Hans Neuman asked the guard, "Who was it?"

"It was Rorschach." Carlos said in disbelief, "He took his hat, but he gave me the coat."

Everyone just stared at the man sitting on the Museum floor for a long moment. Eventually, a paramedic leaned down to him and, without saying anything, began checking his vitals with various medical scanners. Neuman looked around the room, searching for anything that wasn't in perfect order.

"Everything is in place." He said, almost visibly pushing back his anger, "This man was hallucinating."

"It wasn't a hallucination!" Carlos argued. He was struck by a realization and he rolled up his left sleeve, "Look! Did I hallucinate this?"

The skin on his forearm was badly bruised in several places which appeared to be in the shape of a hand. The people in the room stared at the discolored skin for a long moment, Carlos included. Several of them then looked at the Professor who narrowed his eyes at the security guard.

"Rorschach has been dead for a century." Neuman said, "Whoever did this to you was just some would be thief that you foiled."

At that moment, another guard came running around the corner. Carlos didn't recognize him, which meant he was probably from the emergency team. He stopped at the entrance of the annex and looked around the room, a realization striking him as he did so.

"What is it?" Professor Neuman asked, annoyance tainting his tone.

"There was an assault on some muggers in Freedom Town!" The man said, frantically.

"So?" Asked Baker.

"The man who assaulted them," The newcomer announced, "They said he was Rorschach!"


End file.
